


Chasing after the wind

by RavenXavier



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (sort of), Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Injury Recovery, M/M, Self-Harm, post MAG 133
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 05:22:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18381812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenXavier/pseuds/RavenXavier
Summary: “I could find him for you, you know,” she tells him.A way to satisfy the quiet hunger rushing through her blood at all times, without harming anyone. A way to help Jon. To - help a friend. But Jon snorts quietly.“Oh I know where he is,” he says. “I always - he doesn’t want to see me.”





	Chasing after the wind

**Author's Note:**

> So, like everybody in this fandom, I've been having feelings about Daisy (and Basira, and Jon). So here's my - definitely much too hopeful, I think - take on that. 
> 
> I think perhaps I didn't... manage to get Daisy's voice right? I've read lots of stories since then that you wonderful people have written, and I think my Daisy... may be a tad too talkative (though I think the story allows that, sort of) but...uh. sorry. If this doesn't work? 
> 
> Anyway. Parallels stories, guys, right? Parallels. 
> 
> Thanks to the great and amazing [ HermaeusMora ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermaeusMora/pseuds/HermaeusMora) for betareading this piece!!!

Basira holds her tight in her sleep. She doesn’t, when she’s awake -- not after their first hour reunited, at least . It doesn’t bother Daisy. Neither she nor Basira were ever the cuddling, hugging type. It’s enough that Basira is here. It’s enough that she can talk to her, and that Basira  _ talks back,  _ not like -- not like down in the Earth, where Daisy murmured words for her that Basira never got to answer to. 

 

Daisy has nightmares -- always had -- and when she wakes up at night now, Basira is holding her tightly. It’s suffocating. Daisy’s first thought, always, is to run, to escape, to claw her way out of her arms, of the bed, of the darkness. Then she hears Basira’s sleeping sounds, feels her warm breath on her skin, and she forces herself to relax into her embrace instead. She listens to Basira’s heartbeat until her own heart follows the same quiet rhythm, and then she closes her eyes, and tries to go back to sleep. (It’ll be alright, she knows, because Jon will be here. She won’t be alone in the coffin. Jon won’t speak, but he’ll watch. It’ll be alright.)

 

Basira has nightmares too. Apparently, they came back while Daisy was away. She never wakes up from them but sometimes she makes soft, pained sounds that hit Daisy hard. When she looks at her, Basira’s cheeks are always wet from tears. Daisy kisses them, careful, hesitant. 

 

Basira keeps on crying but Daisy tells herself that as long as she holds her tight as well, they’ll be okay. They’ll be okay. 

 

*

 

“You’re leaving again,” Daisy says, watching Basira prepare a bag quietly.

 

Basira doesn’t startle, but she tenses; it’s been three weeks, but she’s clearly not used to Daisy being  _ here  _ again. It’s fine, Daisy thinks. It’s expected. Daisy still has trouble realizing she’s outside most hours of the day. 

 

“Yes,” Basira says at last. “Only for a day or two. There’s something I need to look into that might --” she hesitates, just a second, before continuing carefully: “help us. Protect us.”

 

“Where do you get your intel?” Daisy asks.

 

“Police,” Basira answers, and Daisy wishes she knew that it was a lie from her expression, but the truth is that she only  _ smells it _ out of her. 

 

“You shouldn’t go alone,” she says, because she doesn’t know how to say ‘ _ why are you not trusting me.’ _ They never had to have that conversation before -- before.

 

“I can’t take you with me,” Basira points out, turning away. Her shoulders are still tensed.

 

“I --” Daisy licks her lips. “I’m going to get better. I’m already feeling better.”

 

“That’s good,” Basira says, and she sounds both pleased and oddly detached. “Don’t forget to do your exercises while I’m away, okay? The doctor said it was essential you don’t skip days if you want your full strength back.”

 

“I know that,” Daisy says softly. “I was here too.” 

 

She’s careful, when she moves to Basira, putting a hand on her lower back. She can’t help but feel like she’s trying to catch a wary, frightful prey, ready to escape at the first brisk movement. She’s careful too, when she kisses Basira’s shoulder. 

 

“I’m a big girl, Basira. You don’t have to -- take care of me like that.”

 

Basira sighs and looks back at her. Her eyes are very serious, though the hand she brushes on her cheek is gentle. 

 

“I do though, don’t I?” she says, and kisses Daisy’s eyebrow.

 

Daisy tries not to hear the sadness in her voice. She tries even harder not to notice the disappointment.

 

*

 

Jon’s hands are always trembling a bit when he prepares the tea pot. Daisy pretends she doesn’t see it for a while -- doesn’t seem like good manners to bring it up -- but after Basira’s departure, she has to find  _ something  _ to worry about and it’s not like she hangs out with a lot of people apart from him. 

 

“So where he is, anyway?” she asks, a bit more abrupt than she’d wished. 

 

“Mm?”

 

“Black - Martin,” she corrects herself quickly. “Where’s Martin?”

 

Jon’s hand slips. He burns himself with the tea. 

 

“Shit, shit -” he swears and shakes his hand. It takes only a few seconds for the burn to disappear. Daisy tries very hard not to find this creepy. 

 

“Sorry,” she says, a beat too late. “Is that something we should not speak about? I’ve noticed nobody says his name, but - his desk hasn’t been cleared or anything, so I assume Elias didn’t --”

 

“No, no,” Jon says, staring very hard at his half filled cup. “He’s - Martin’s fine. I think.” There’s a beat, and then he licks his lips. “He’s… working. With Lukas. I haven’t, er - well, I haven’t seen him much, since I woke up.”

 

Jon, contrary to Basira, is absolutely shit at hiding his emotions. Daisy doesn’t need to smell anything off him; his face tells it all. His worry, his sadness, his longing - his resentment. It’s the most emotional she’s seen him since she came back though, and that’s something. Her fingers run on the countertop. 

 

“I could find him for you, you know,” she tells him. 

 

A way to satisfy the quiet hunger rushing through her blood at all times, without harming anyone. A way to help Jon. To - help a friend. But Jon snorts quietly.

 

“Oh I know where he is,” he says. “I always - he doesn’t want to see me.” He gives Daisy a smile that looks more like a grimace. “He’s busy with -- plans, and he specifically asked me to stop pushing about it and I’m -- I’m trying to do that. To… To respect that.”

 

“ _ Why? _ ” Daisy asks, baffled. “You’re always bugging Basira about the fact we need to work together - oh don’t look at me like that, I’m not an  _ idiot _ , I know about your little talks.”

 

Jon winces guiltily before looking back at the tea cup. 

 

“Why, Jon?” she asks again. She tries to make her voice soft. He is a friend, not a suspect. 

 

“Because,” Jon begins. “Because I - when it comes to Martin, Daisy, it’s always been about what  _ I  _ wanted. What I needed. Even -- even when I wasn’t aware of it. I think he’s being stupid, I think Basira is being stupid as well, but -- but he’s made his choice, and I don’t -- it can’t be about me again.” He finishes quietly. “I owe him to let him do what he thinks he should do without making it about  _ me.  _ God knows he’s done the same too many times.”

 

Daisy looks at him for a while. Her mind jumps to Basira without her consent; it isn’t like that, for them: they’re a team. They’ve always been a team. This is (...was?) an equal partnership. Then again, this is not about her and Basira. This is about Martin Blackwood.

 

“You’re an idiot,” she tells Jon at last, and Jon lets out a shaky laugh, smiling at her more genuinely. 

 

“Are you still surprised about that?”

 

“Guess not; haven’t forgotten you can’t even read proper,” she points out, and she lets herself grin as well when he scoffs petulantly. 

 

They bicker, and the subject of Martin Blackwood is dropped. In appearance, at the very least. 

 

*

 

She goes to bed alone and she hates it. Everything around her smells like Basira, which is her only comfort. That, and the fact that she knows she’s going to fall asleep. It’s not that she’s eager for the dreams, for the sensations of Earth closing back on her, suffocating her. She’s not. But at least, in her dreams, she’s not alone. The Archivist won’t let her. She doesn’t think anybody expects her to find it reassuring, but it is.

 

It is.

 

*

 

Daisy used to dislike Melanie. There weren’t deep reasons for it; it wasn’t the Hunt (or perhaps it was? Sometimes she still wonders, what was her, and what was  _ It _ ), it wasn’t because Melanie had angered her, or did something to her, or anything like that. Daisy used to dislike her because Melanie made Basira laugh, at a time Daisy couldn’t do that anymore, being almost never  _ here _ . Now it’s Basira who’s away, and Melanie stares at Daisy like she knows exactly what Daisy is going through.

 

Maybe she does. At some point, she’ll probably be able to open up to her about it, even. But it’s already hard to get the words out with Jon, who’s trying very hard not to  _ ask her,  _ and it’s near impossible with Basira, who - doesn’t want to ask, she thinks. They both want to pretend, and maybe it makes Daisy a coward. She doesn’t care.

 

“C’mon,” says Melanie. “You’ve still got, like - holy shit, seriously? Five more exercises? Who  _ gives  _ this to you --”

 

“A professional,” Daisy says, sweating profusely, her arms shaking as she tries to stay upright. She refuses to cry. Every part of her body aches, but it means she’s moving, it means she’s succeeding, and she  _ refuses to cry _ . 

 

“Are you sure it’s not a torturer?” Melanie’s voice is doubtful. 

 

In the corner, watching with deep curiosity, the (monster) woman everybody calls Helen says: “It  _ is  _ a very interesting form of torture.”

 

“Don’t get ideas,” Melanie tells her. She’s almost grinning. Helen beams at her; her smile is unnatural, and makes Daisy wants to throw herself at her and tear her throat out. She’s not right, that -- that woman, she’s not right, she’s a  _ danger _ , she’s -- 

 

She breathes out. Concentrates on the way her hands are burning from supporting her, of the cramp building up on her thigh. She thinks of giving up, and then she thinks of Basira’s face, if she was to learn about it. She’s pretty sure Melanie and Helen are only here on her orders, anyway. She closes her eyes, and takes several more steps. (Towards the monster, towards her prey, just a few meters more and she could  _ pounce -- _ )

 

“Melanie,” she says abruptly, interrupting whatever weird banter is going on over her head. “What happened, with Blackwood?”

 

Melanie looks thrown off, then wary. “Why do you care?”

 

_ I need something to chase that is not your monstrous girlfriend  _ doesn’t seem like the thing to say. 

 

“Jon’s upset,” she says instead, which is her second reason, anyway. 

 

“When  _ isn’t  _ Jon upset?” Melanie retorts, and then frowns at herself, tapping her leg nervously. “I don’t know what happened,” she says after a second. “ Like, I  _ know,  _ but not really. I wasn’t much like myself when he decided to bail on us. I mean, Jon says he’s just like, out there, sacrificing himself or whatever, but it sure didn’t feel like it when he just -- disappeared on us. I know it happened a bit after the Flesh attacked. His mum died and then he just -- said Peter Lukas needed him to look over some stuff, and to trust him --” (she scoffs at that) “and then one day we realized - well, Basira did - that he just. Wasn’t here anymore.”

 

“He’s left the Institute?” 

 

Melanie shrugs. “Who the hell knows? Jon’s seen him, so I guess he’s around, somewhere.”

 

“Mmh.”

 

Daisy licks her lips, thinking. So Martin Blackwood turned into a ghost; that’s fine. Daisy is very,  _ very good  _ at chasing after people who’ve disappeared, or don’t want to be found. 

 

“Gonna share with the class, or you’re going to do like your girlfriend?” Melanie asks, eventually. 

 

“Got nothing yet to share,” Daisy points out.

 

“...Right. Whatever. Hey, Helen, do you want to go find Jon? I bet we can trick him into using those weights over there, it’s gonna be hilarious --”

 

*

 

She wakes up in the middle of the night, suffocating. There is nobody to hold her, and Jon wasn’t  _ here.  _ Everything is pitch black down there, it smells like dirt and the blankets feel like a winding-sheet. She gets out of the bed fast, but her legs are clumsy and when she falls, it feels inevitable and the worst possible thing that could happen to her. 

 

Basira isn’t here, so she lets herself cry. She weeps like a little girl, holding her knees close to her chest because she can, and then she angrily bites her own forearm to get a grip on herself. She bites too deep, and she tastes blood. It’s unpleasant and bitter and unsatisfying. She doesn’t need blood. She needs  _ Basira _ . She needs something to  _ chase.  _

 

She blindly grabs for her phone, hoping for some light. She’s received two messages, less than two hours ago. 

 

_ Going to be away a bit longer.  _ Basira wrote.  _ I think i’m getting close. I’ll keep you updated.  _ And then, ten minutes later, almost like an afterthought:  _ Be safe. I love you. _

 

Daisy is adrift. 

 

She can’t think of anything to write back, not right now, so she pushes her feelings down, gripping the phone too tightly, and she uses it to climb back up to the Archives. Basira isn’t here. That’s fine. Basira has plans -- Daisy has one, too. She walks very quietly down the corridors, enjoying the tension running up her spine as she avoids the light coming off Jon’s office. It’s four am - he shouldn’t be awake. But she can hear paper rustling, and Jon’s voice, soft and almost musical. If she listens very closely, she can even hear the tape recorder running gently not far from him. 

 

She could get inside. He wasn’t in her dream, but he’s  _ here,  _ right now. He wouldn’t push her away. But she’s tired of using him as a crutch and besides, she owes him enough as it is. Right now, it’s her turn to do something for him. 

 

So she avoids the light and walks very carefully to Martin Blackwood’s desk. There’s a layer of dust on top of everything, except the tea mug on the far left corner. She’s seen Jon wash it before. She shakes her head, and dives into the drawers under the desk.

 

*

 

The chase is - it’s good, and it’s absurdly short. She knows… She knows that, rationally, it’s a good thing. She shouldn’t want it to last too long. Her body is thrumming with primal, fierce energy, and she wonders anyway if she shouldn’t just -- wait. Wait a bit longer. She doesn’t have to catch Martin today. She could only trace his steps, follow his movements, understand what he’s doing, bring back  _ proof.  _ For Jon. She could hide and wait until Martin leaves Elias’ office, since it’s where he’s hiding. 

 

She  _ wants to.  _

 

But that’s what a good hunter would do, not a - not a good  _ friend.  _ She wants, so badly, to be a good friend. 

 

The door opens without any difficulty; the way Martin Blackwood startles hard when it does leads Daisy to believe that he’s quite used to nobody doing that. He raises his head like a deer in the headlights and does a double-take when his eyes fall on her. She sees them widen a bit more; his face is pale, paler than she remembers, and it pales some more when he recognizes her. He probably doesn’t even realize, does he? How his shoulders tense, how he leans away from the desk, how he  _ drips  _ fear all over the place. Daisy smiles and sniffs the air. Gotcha, she thinks, and for a second she forgets all about Jon, and Basira, and the coffin. She’s at the highest point of the chase: when the prey is finally aware it’s close to being caught. God she wants him to run. She stares at his terrified stance and she waits on the doorstep, shivering with delight, until he says: 

 

“D-Daisy? How - How are you - I thought you were -”

 

“Dead?” 

 

“I - yeah,” Martin says. He looks shell-shocked. “I mean I guess Jon mentioned -” he shakes his head, abruptly. The fear - it’s very odd. The fear dims. “Look, I don’t - I don’t know what you’re doing here, and I guess I’m - I mean, no, no, it’s good, I’m  _ glad  _ you’re well, alive, but you can’t be here.”

 

Daisy tilts her head and raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. “Make me leave, then.”

 

“That’s not  _ fair, _ ” says Martin, “you know I can’t do that. I’m - I’m  _ asking you,  _ okay? Please leave. I can’t -” he seems struck by a sudden thought. His face closes off entirely. “Did Jon send you here?” 

 

Daisy thinks for a moment. “No,” she says at last. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Martin’s face is almost as unreadable as Basira’s. But that’s the funny thing about Daisy; she may hate it, but she doesn’t  _ need  _ to read people’s feelings. She can smell it on them just fine, and there’s absolutely no doubt right now that Martin’s disappointed. 

 

“You told him not to come looking for you,” she says. 

 

“...Right,” Martin says. His voice is a little bit off, but he stares at her fiercely. “ _ Right.  _ Exactly. And that was for a reason, so, if -- if Jon’s doing that, then you should too --”

 

“What’s the reason?” 

 

“... What?”

 

“The reason, Blackwood. Why don’t you want Jon to see you?”

 

“I - that’s none of your business and - since when do you ca - since when are you  _ calling him Jon?” _

 

“Since he saved my life,” Daisy says simply. 

 

Martin falls quiet. It looks like he wants to ask something for a moment, but then his hand curls into a fist and he says, firmly:

 

“It’s none of your business, what I’m doing. So - please, Daisy, if you could just -”

 

“No,” Daisy says. She crosses her arms on her chest, and takes a step in, closing the door behind her with her heel. Martin tenses, his fear rising up again. The beast in Daisy shudders in delight. “I’m not finished with you. I’m not going to make this  _ easy  _ for you, I’m not Jon, I don’t feel like I should be  _ mindful  _ of your choices or feelings.”

 

“Great!” Martin exclaims, his voice and chin a bit too high. “That’s great Daisy, but I don’t care how  _ threatening  _ you get, I won’t tell you.”

 

“That’s what they all say,” Daisy snarls and she pounces.

 

When she jumps on the desk, Martin scrambles up and tries to move away, which of course is perfect; she catches him in less than a few seconds, right against the wall, her hand holding his collar, and she wants to laugh at this large, tall man, cowering in front of her. She wants to let him go, to watch him run some more. Instead, she coughs, her legs tremble, and suddenly, the space between Martin, the wall, and the desk is too small, it’s too small, and she can’t  _ breathe  _ \- 

 

“No,” she says. “No, no, no -”

 

“...Daisy?”

 

“Shut up,” she snaps and then she moves away from him, leans on the desk, and closes her eyes. She refuses to cry. She refuses to cry. She focuses instead on the burning pain in her legs.  _ Jumping on a desk?  _ What was she  _ thinking?  _ She stretches them as far as she can, just like the doctor told her to, and scrambles to keep her mind straight. She didn’t come here to get lost again. She came here for answers. She came here - for Jon. She came here for Jon, and Martin’s not a prey, he’s -- he’s a victim. He’s a victim of this place, like everybody else here.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, haltingly, at last. 

 

Martin is still against the wall. “...Okay?”

 

“If you’re in trouble,” she continues, slowly, forcing herself to sound as gentle as she can. It’s not much of a success. “If you’re in trouble we can  _ help you.  _ All of us are ready to help. Well - Jon and I and, and Basira…”

 

“I don’t  _ need  _ help,” Martin says, sounding tired, and a bit frustrated. “I’m handling it.”

 

“You don’t have to handle it alone.”

 

“Ha!” Martin snorts. “That - is  _ exactly  _ what I have to do.”

 

“Right. Peter Lukas, is it?”

 

“I -” Martin blinks before frowning. “...Are you playing bad cop/good cop on me?” he asks. “I’m not going to say more just because you’re -” he hesitates.

 

“Weak?”

 

“...In pain.”

 

“Doesn’t sound much like you,” Daisy points out.

 

“Yeah, well - people change.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

There’s a blank. Martin very, very carefully straightens up, glancing at her warily. 

 

“If you’re not leaving, I’m just - going to go.” he says at last.

 

Daisy thinks  _ good. Run. Run.  _ She grits her teeth. 

 

“Why do you do this?” she asks. “I don’t mean - I don’t mean whatever plan you’ve got. I don’t care about that.  I mean, working with a man nobody trusts, instead of the people you know would have your back?”

 

“I don’t have to answer you,” Martin says tersely. 

 

“Sure. You don’t. We’re nothing to each other. Didn’t matter when we were saving the world eight months ago, did it?”

 

“That was eight months ago,” Martin says. “And then Tim died, and you disappeared, and Jon --” it feels like he’s being punched in the guts. His mouth gets thinner. 

 

“Yeah, but you didn’t start working with Peter Lukas  _ then _ , did you?” Daisy asks. “You were still around for a while. Did the Flesh scare you, Blackwood? Did you think, oh, all my friends are dead or a monster, so i should get in on that as well -”

 

“Shut up,” says Martin quietly.

 

“Did you think -” Daisy continues. “That you  _ needed  _ to get on everybody else’s levels of stupidity? What are you expecting from this, Martin? We’ve all got nothing anymore except each other, and you decide, one morning, that even that is worth giving up for - for what? Saving the world? Saving  _ yourself?  _ Saving  _ us?  _ Because let me tell you, you not being here - it brings nothing! Nothing has changed, except that Jon dutifully washes your stupid tea mug, every day, and pretends like he doesn’t -”

 

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Martin yells, and then he stills, trembling everywhere. He’s glaring at her, eyes a bit wet. “You’ve got - You’ve got no right, alright? You weren’t there! Neither, neither was Jon - we thought you were dead! Both of you! So you don’t - you don’t get to come  _ barging  _ in here, like, like I owe you some answers or, or some  _ explanations.  _ You. Weren’t. There. I did what was necessary, and I don’t  _ care  _ if you feel left out because I won’t tell you what I’m doing -”

 

“We’ve all had our traumas,” Daisy spits. She’s trembling too, but she doesn’t know why. “I’ve just spent eight months buried, Martin. I doubt Jon’s coma was very nice either.” Martin flinches. “But how the hell are we supposed to do anything now if you just - just disappear and don’t say how we can  _ help?  _ Do you think I can just -- Don’t you think it’s hard enough, to come back from all this weakened and, and -  _ lost,  _ just to find that you can’t even  _ help  _ the people who you come back to? Tell me! What I am supposed to - what is  _ Jon  _ supposed to do, without, without a  _ clue  _ as to what’s happening, what you’re doing, what you’re both -- You can’t just LEAVE and decide I’m nothing anymore and I can’t help! You don’t get to shut me out, because if I can’t help you then, then why I am even still  _ here -- _ ”

 

To her deepest horror, she feels a tear rolling off her cheek; then two, then three - she hastily moves to wipe them away, but more come, and Martin turns blurry in front of her. 

 

“I - I don’t think this is about me,” Martin says at last, sounding quite uncertain. 

 

“It’s not,” says Jon softly from behind him. 

 

“ _ Jon -” _ Martin’s voice is filled with too many emotions. He seems to realize, because a second later, it’s more flat than Daisy has heard since she came in, though frustration slips in anyway. “How - how long have you  _ been here? _ ”

 

“Not long,” Jon says. “I, er - I realized Daisy was here only a few minutes ago.”

 

“...Okay,” says Martin. “I - Okay. I need. I need to go.”

 

“I know,” Jon says. It’s very quiet. Jon’s shit at hiding his emotions. But then again, that’s rich coming from her now, she thinks, because she can’t stop sobbing, and her throat hurts. 

 

“Jon -” Martin starts again, because he must read it, just as Daisy did; the longing and sadness and resignation… 

 

“I  _ know, _ ” Jon repeats. “Go. I’ll take care of Daisy. If you - if you need -” he tries. 

 

“Yeah,” Martin cuts him off. “Yeah I - I’m -  _ goodbye  _ Jon… Daisy.”

 

He runs away, in the end. Daisy just feels empty though; the desire to chase after him has deflated. She hides her face in her hands, unable to look at Jon, and she thinks of Basira. Properly thinks of her; she thinks of the way Basira has shut her out of hers and Jon’s last talks. She thinks of the way Basira has been looking at her when she thought Daisy wasn’t looking, discomfort and resentment smoothed away by cold determination. She thinks of her voice, too soothing, too gentle, like Daisy was - was a child, of the lies and the things she hasn’t been saying despite the fact they clearly mattered to her. She thinks of the way she’d been whispering angrily at Jon for weeks. She thinks of  _ Basira _ , properly, and the fact she’s not here.  _ She’s not here _ . 

 

She doesn’t push Jon away when he awkwardly pats her arm. Instead, she angrily wipes a few more tears away, and then she lets her head rest on his shoulder, trying to calm down. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says; her voice is small, and weak, and pathetic. She hates it. 

 

“It’s - it’s alright,” Jon says carefully. “I’m - well I can’t say I don’t know where you’re coming from. This - this is hard.”

 

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “Yeah.”

 

“More so for you than it’s ever been for me, I suppose,” Jon adds. “I - was never as close to them… to… to him, as you are to Basira.”

 

“I just -” Daisy takes another deep breath. “I just feel so - so -”

 

“Helpless?” 

 

“ _ Yes. _ ” She lets her fingers tap nervously on the desk. “I don’t - that’s not  _ me,  _ Jon. I don’t, I mean I guess I don’t know what’s me anymore but I’ve never - I’ve never been  _ idle.  _ There’s always been something, or someone, to pursue, a goal to reach, a -- unworldly ritual to stop! It kills me that she won’t let me -- I know what she thinks. And I’m afraid she’s right. I’m - I’m afraid I  _ am  _ useless now. And I hate it. I think I hate it more than, than -”

 

“The thrill of the hunt.” Jon finishes for her quietly. 

 

She doesn’t nod. She doesn’t need to. Jon sighs and, very hesitantly, covers her agitated fingers with his hand, squeezing them gently. 

 

“For what it’s worth -- I think Basira is wrong. Which, statistically speaking, was bound to happen one day. Everybody is useful. Everybody is  _ needed.  _ All of us we - we all have different knowledge, different  _ strengths,  _ and we’re all - part of this. You’re important, Daisy.”

 

Daisy isn’t sure she can believe this. Still. She - she appreciates the effort. 

 

“Thanks, Jon.” She’s out of her depth here, doesn’t do well with emotions, but she really  _ wants  _ to do good by him so she adds, hoping it might help: “I don’t know what he said to you exactly, but when I told him I wasn’t sent by you, he reeked of disappointment. He’s - I don’t know the game is playing, but that boy’s still as - as into you as he’s always been.”

 

Jon coughs abruptly. She moves a bit away, raising her eyebrows at Jon’s sudden pink cheeks. 

 

“I, uh - I -” It seems like he can’t look at her. “I don’t --” He sighs again, eventually. “It’s not - It doesn’t matter. Whatever, uh, whatever  _ affection  _ he may carry for me, it’s clearly not enough to - the point is, I can’t use that. I would never use that. Even with the best reasons.”

 

“But you lo --” she begins.

 

“And I woke up to it six months too late,” Jon cuts off her with a weak smile. “Always had very bad timing. I want to help him,” he adds quietly, seriously. “I  _ will  _ help him. I’ll find a way. I’m not - I’m not  _ losing him _ . Especially not to the Lonely. But I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t -- direct confrontation won’t cut it.”

 

“A kiss might,” Daisy points out. 

 

She watches him splutter for a moment, and then she adds.

 

“I get it, though. I’ll help you.”

 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate you kissing him.” Jon retorts thoughtlessly. 

 

Daisy stares. Jon flushes harder. And then she’s laughing and he follows her after a beat. It feels - it feels good. It feels so good.  

 

“God,  _ Jon _ .” 

 

“I know,” he says. “I know.”

 

The silence that falls between them is - comfortable. It’s funny, Daisy thinks, how life can turn out to be. Less than a year ago she was planning to kill this man. Now he’s saved her from eternal burial, and she realizes that - she likes him. It’s not just gratefulness, like she thought at first. She  _ likes him.  _

 

“We should go,” says Jon after a moment. “This office is full of memories I’d rather not be reminded of.”

 

“Might be yours one day,” Daisy says.

 

“No,” Jon says, and his voice is absolutely certain, the way it only is when - “The Archivist belongs to the Archives.”

 

Daisy fights against the abrupt need to recoil from the cold, heavy gaze suddenly on them. Jon’s shoulders, she notices, have relaxed slightly. That - that is not good. She knows it’s not. Still. It’s the least of their problems for now, probably.

 

“Let’s not leave yet,” she says instead. “Martin was working on the computer when I arrived. Might get a clue on what the hell he’s been doing.”

 

Jon straightens up, and smiles at her baffled and eager. “Of course,” he says. “That’s - yes. Let’s.”

 

Ten minutes later, Jon’s smile has disappeared, though there’s some incredulous amusement in the midst of his frustration when he whispers: 

 

“That’s - that’s the  _ library employees’ timetable.  _ Has he - has he been doing the  _ scheduling?  _ Good lord, Elias must be  _ fuming -” _

 

*

 

Basira comes back late in the evening four days later. She seems unhappy when she sees that Daisy’s awake, though she hides it pretty fast, but it barely registers to Daisy, because the smell of blood is  _ everywhere.  _

 

“I thought you’d be asleep,” Basira says. 

 

“You’re hurt,” Daisy says at the same time, sharply, her mind whirling with urgency.

 

“It’s nothing,” Basira tempers. “It’s just my arm, I’ll be fine --”

 

“Let me look at it -”

 

“Daisy -”

 

“Let me,” Daisy says -  _ orders _ . She’s cold and angry and Basira sighs but she offers her arm with a grimace. 

 

Daisy carefully takes her jacket off. Basira apparently didn’t have anything at hand to make a proper bandage, and used a shirt. It’s not  _ bad _ , but if she did this it probably means she hasn’t disinfected the wound as she should, and the blood is still fresh and dripping. 

 

“Come on,” she says. “We’re going to take care of this.”

 

“I can do it,” Basira tells her, rattled. “I don’t need -”

 

“ _ Enough, _ ” Daisy snaps. “I’ve been buried, not brainwashed, Basira. I still know how to patch up a wound, and how are you even going to do something properly with one hand?”

 

Basira stops protesting. They’re quiet as they make their way to the kitchen, where most of the emergency supplies are stored. Daisy draws two chairs so they can sit, and then, she gets to work. She hates that her fingers are trembling a bit. She’s rusty, and she knows it, and Basira clearly knows it as well. It’s like she can feel her burning, intense, piercing eyes on her even as she keeps hers firmly on the wound, analyzing every little detail that is wrong with her, and forming their own, private conclusions about it.  _ Judging.  _

 

It’s funny, she thinks humorlessly. She never feels that observed anymore, unless she’s with Jon. It makes her heart clench in her chest. She finishes wrapping up the wound, and brushes her lips against Basira’s shoulder.

 

“I hope it was worth it,” she says.

 

“Yeah,” says Basira. “I think it was.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“... We should go to sleep...”

 

“Are you tired?”

 

“Daisy…”

 

“ _ Tell me,  _ Basira.”

 

“I don’t -” Basira stops herself. Daisy stares at her. 

 

She puts one of her hands on Basira’s knee, and moves the other until it’s resting on Basira’s cheek. Basira’s eyes flutter, but she doesn’t move away from the touch. She doesn’t lean into it either.

 

“You don’t want to tell me, because you don’t think I can handle it.” 

 

“It’s not like that,” Basira says immediately, defensively.

 

“Yeah, it is.” Daisy squeezes her knee. Takes a breath. “I need you to listen to me, okay? For the next - five minutes, I need you to listen to me.”

 

“...Sure, fine.”

 

“I know I’m weak.” Daisy says, briskly. Basira winces. She doesn’t deny it. “I know I’m not - I’m not who I used to be. I get it. I’m - however wrong it feels for you, it feels a hundred times worse for me, okay?” 

 

“Daisy…”

 

“Five minutes,” Daisy repeats. “I can’t trust my body right now. I can’t - I can’t follow you on the field, because I would be a liability there, and I agree with this. I don’t like it, but I  _ get it.  _ And I’m - I’m -” she licks her lips, tries not to feel the ache in her bones, tries not to pay too much attention to her blood, itching for something to latch onto, to  _ chase down _ . “I’m - I’m lost. I - I feel like I’ve - the coffin’s taken away something that’s been here for so long, that I don’t - I don’t remember how I was before it. I’m learning. I’m - I’m  _ trying.  _ The - the Daisy I was, Basira, the - the one you loved, she wasn’t -  _ she was losing herself too.  _ Now I - I get a - a chance to figure it out. And I want to take that chance, and more than anything, I wish - I wish I could share that with you.”

 

Basira tenses. Daisy’s heart is in her throat, and it’s so hard to speak, but she continues, pushing the words out: 

 

“I know you can’t though. I know you can’t be there for me right now, and it’s - it’s fine.” Basira looks stricken. Daisy persists. “But I don’t - I can accept that, Basira. I can lean on other people’s shoulders. I’ve got - well, apparently, I’ve got Jon now and it’s - it’s surprisingly nice. But I won’t - I  _ can’t stand the idea  _ that you won’t - that you refuse to lean on me. Because I may not be able to go into the field but I’m still - I’m still here. I’m here for you. I’m your  _ partner  _ Basira. And you’re mine. I may - I may not be sure of anything right now, but this? This I wouldn’t question, for a  _ minute _ . I’m your partner, and I’m here for you, I’m working  _ with  _ you. So - So I need you to trust me. To trust  _ this. _ ” 

 

“You’ve been through enough,” Basira says at last. Her eyes are a bit shiny. “I can’t put more on your shoulders. You need - you need time, to recover, especially when you’re not -”

 

“A hunter anymore?” Daisy leans in. “So what, Basira? I was still police for years. I still got the academy training. I can  _ help you.  _ Let me help you.”

 

She can see it now, behind Basira’s eyes, her thoughts racing through to find a satisfactory outcome, the one with the most advantages and the least to lose. Basira has always let her mind decide before giving her heart any freedom, it’s not new, it’s  _ fine _ , Daisy just needs her to reach the good conclusion anyway. She waits, and waits, until Basira says, quietly: 

 

“This cannot reach anyone else’s ears.”

 

“Fine,” Daisy says, immediately.

 

“I’m serious,” Basira insists. “Not anyone. Not even Jon.”

 

“Fine.” Daisy repeats. “I won’t tell him a thing.”

 

“It’s not that easy,” Basira says. “He - he  _ knows  _ things sometimes, and I can’t - we can’t trust him. Not entirely.”

 

“Then I’ll tell him to stay out of my head,” Daisy says. “Perks of being friends with the monster. He respects your boundaries.”

 

Basira’s lips quirk up, apparently despite her best efforts. Daisy’s heart misses a beat, and she smiles back. For a second, she thinks of kissing her, but then the moment is gone, and Basira looks serious again, frowning. 

 

“You won’t like it,” she tells Daisy, a warning in her voice. “I know you won’t, but I need you to trust me on that one, okay?”

 

“I trust you. Now  _ you  _ trust me to handle it.”

 

Basira takes a deep breath. Slowly, very slowly, her shoulders relax and and she takes Daisy’s hand into her own.

 

“I’ve been - paying visits to Elias in prison,” she begins, and Daisy straightens up immediately.

 

There it is, at  _ last _ . The truth. Basira. A  _ purpose _ .  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can come and chat with [ me ](http://somuchbetterthanthat.tumblr.com/) at any given time of the day! There is very little I enjoy more than talk about this podcast nowadays.


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